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RAB AND HIS FRIENDS 






















RAB 

AND HIS FRIENDS 


BY 


JOHN BROWN, M. D. 


ILLUSTRATED 



BOSTON’ 

THE PAGE COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 





3171 el 


TC 

MY TWO FRIENDS 

At Busby, Renfrewshire, 


IN REMEMBRANCE OF A JOURNEY FROM CARSTAIRS JUNCTION 
TO TOLEDO AND BACK, 

Gbis Stors 

OF 

“RAB AND HIS FRIENDS 


IS INSCRIBED. 





PREFACE. 


Four years ago, my uncle, the Rev. Dr. Smith, of 
Biggar, asked me to give a lecture in my native vil¬ 
lage, the shrewd little capital of the Upper Ward. I 
never lectured before; I have no turn for it; but 
Avunculus was urgent, and I had an odd sort of 
desire to say something to these strong-brained, 
primitive people of my youth, who were bovs and 
girls when I left them. I could think of noth¬ 
ing to give them. At last I said to myself, “I’ll 
tell them Ailie’s story.” I had often told it to my¬ 
self ; indeed, it came on me at intervals almost 
painfully, as if demanding to be told, as if I heard 
Rab whining at the door to get in or out, — 

“ Whispering how meek and gentle he could be ; *' 

or as if James was entreating me on his deathbed to 
tell all the world what his Ailie was. But it was 
easier said than done. I tried it over and over, in 
vain. At last, after a happy dinner at Hanley — 
why are the dinners always happy at Hanley ? — and 
a drive home alone through 

“ The gleam, the shadow, and the peace supreme ” 


X 


PREFACE. 


of a midsummer night, I sat down about twelve and 
rose at four, having finished it. I slunk off to bed, 
satisfied, and cold. I don’t think I made almost any 
changes in it. I read it to the Biggar folk in the 
schoolhouse, very frightened, and felt I was reading 
it ill, and their honest faces intimated as much in 
their affectionate, puzzled looks. I gave it on my 
return home to some friends, who liked the story ; 
and the first idea was to print it, as now, with illus¬ 
trations, on the principle of Rogers’s joke, “ that it 
would be dished except for the plates.” 

But I got afraid of the public, and paused. Mean¬ 
while some good friend said Rab might be thrown 
in among the other idle hours, and so he was; and 
it is a great pleasure to me to think how many new 
friends he got. 

I was at Biggar the other day, and some of the 
good folks told me, with a grave smile peculiar to 
that region, that when Rab came to them in print 
he was so good that they would n’t believe he was 
the same Rab I had delivered in the schoolroom, — 
a testimony to my vocal powers of impressing the 
multitude somewhat conclusive. 

It has been objected to it, as a work of art, that 
there is too much pain; and many have said to me, 
with some bitterness, “ Why did-you make me suffer 
so ? ” But I think of my father’s answer when I told 
him this, “ And why should n’t they suffer ? she suf¬ 
fered ; it will do them good; for pity, genuine pity, 


PREFACE. 


XI 


is, as old Aristotle says, ‘of power to purge the 
mind.’ ” And though in all works of art there should 
be a plus of delectation, the ultimate overcoming of 
evil and sorrow by good and joy — the end of all 
art being pleasure — whatsoever things are lovely 
first, and things that are true and of good report 
afterwards in their turn, still there is a pleasure, 
one of the strangest and strongest in our nature, in 
imaginative suffering with and for others, — 

“ In the soothing thoughts that spring 
Out of human suffering”; 

for sympathy is worth nothing, is, indeed, not itself, 
unless it has in it somewhat of personal pain. It is 
the hereafter that gives to 

“ the touch of a vanish’d hand, 

And the sound of a voice that is still,” 

its own infinite meaning. Our hearts and our under¬ 
standings follow Ailie and her “ ain man ” into that 
world where there is no pain, where no one says, “ I 
am sick.” What is all the philosophy of Cicero, the 
wailings of Catullus, and the gloomy playfulness of 
Horace’s endless variations on “ Let us eat and 
drink,” with its terrific “ for,” to the simple faith of 
the carrier and his wife in “ I am the Resurrection 
and the Life ” ? 

I think I can hear from across the fields of sleep 


PREFACE. 


Xll 

and other years, Aide’s sweet, dim, wandering voice 
trying to say, — 

Our bonnie bairn’s there, John, 

She was baith gude and fair, John, 

And we grudged her sair, John, 

To the land o’ the leal. 

But sorrow’s sel’ wears past, John, 

The joys are cornin’ fast, John, 

The joys that aye shall last, John, 

In the land o’ the leal. 



PAGE 


Rab . , „ Frontispiece 

Headpiece .i 

‘“A Dog Fight!’ shouted Bob”.2 

“ The Young Pastoral Giant stalks off with Yar¬ 
row in His Arms, — comforting Him” ... 7 

“I EAGERLY TOLD HlM THE STORY”.II 

“ I am a Medical Student”.13 

“Ailie and James”.18 

“An Operation To-Day”.25 

“He took a Walk with Me Every Day” ... 28 

“What is Our Life?”.36 

Tailpiece . . . , • ..44 


























RAB AND HIS FRIENDS 

OUR-AND-THIRTY years ago, Bob 



Ainslie and I were coming up In¬ 
firmary Street from the Edinburgh High 
School, our heads together, and our arms 
intertwisted, as only lovers and boys know 
how, or why. 

When we got to the top of the street, 
and turned north, we espied a crowd at 
the Tron Church. “ A dog-fight! ” shouted 



2 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


Bob, and was off; and so was I, both of 
us all but praying that it might not be over 
before we got up! And is not this boy- 



nature ? and human nature too ? and don’t 
we all wish a house on fire not to be out 
before we see it? Dogs like fighting; old 
Isaac says they “ delight ” in it, and for 





RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


3 


the best of all reasons; and boys are not 
cruel because they like to see the fight. 
They see three of the great cardinal vir¬ 
tues of dog or man — courage, endurance, 
and skill — in intense action. This is very 
different from a love of making dogs fight, 
and enjoying, and aggravating, and making 
gain by their pluck. A boy, be he ever 
so fond himself of fighting, if he be a 
good boy, hates and despises all this, but 
he would have run off with Bob and me 
fast enough; it is a natural and a not 
wicked interest that all boys and men have 
in witnessing intense energy in action. 

Does any curious and finely ignorant 
woman wish to know how Bob’s eye at a 
glance announced a dog-fight to his brain ? 
He did not, he could not, see the dogs 
fighting; it was a flash of an inference, 
a rapid induction. The crowd round a 
couple of dogs fighting is a crowd mas¬ 
culine mainly, with an occasional active, 


4 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


compassionate woman, fluttering wildly 
round the outside, and using her tongue 
and her hands freely upon the men, as 
so many “ brutes ”; it is a crowd annular, 
compact, and mobile; a crowd centripetal, 
having its eyes and its heads all bent 
downwards and inwards, to one common 
focus. 

Well, Bob and I are up, and find it is 
not over: a small, thoroughbred, white 
bull-terrier is busy throttling a large shep¬ 
herd’s dog, unaccustomed to war, but not 
to be trifled with. They are hard at it; 
the scientific little fellow doing his work 
in great style, his pastoral enemy fighting 
wildly, but with the sharpest of teeth and 
a great courage. Science and breeding, 
however, soon had their own; the Game 
Chicken, as the premature Bob called him, 
working his way up, took, his final grip of 
poor Yarrow’s throat,—and he lay gasp¬ 
ing and done for. His master, a brown, 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


5 


handsome, big, young shepherd from 
Tweedsmuir, would have liked to have 
knocked down any man, would “drink up 
Esil, or eat a crocodile,” for that part, if 
he had a chance: it was no use kicking 
the little dog; that would only make him 
hold the closer. Many were the means 
shouted out in mouthfuls, of the best 
possible ways of ending it. “ Water! ” but 
there was none near, and many cried for it 
who might have got it from the well at 
Blackfriars Wynd. “ Bite the tail! ” and a 
large, vague, benevolent, middle-aged man, 
more desirous than wise, with some strug¬ 
gle got the bushy end of Yarrow's tail into 
his ample mouth, and bit it with all his 
might. This was more than enough for 
the much-enduring, much-perspiring shep¬ 
herd, who, with a gleam of joy over his 
broad visage, delivered a terrific facer 
upon our large, vague, benevolent, middle- 
aged friend,— who went down like a shot. 


6 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


Still the Chicken holds; death not far 
off. “Snuff! a pinch of snuff! ” observed 
a calm, highly dressed young buck, with 
an eye-glass in his eye. “ Snuff, indeed!” 
growled the angry crowd, affronted and 
glaring. “ Snuff! a pinch of snuff! ” again 
observes the buck, but with more urgency; 
whereon were produced several open 
boxes, and from a mull which may have 
been at Culloden he took a pinch, knelt 
down, and presented it to the nose of 
the Chicken. The laws of physiology and 
of snuff take their course; the Chicken 
sneezes, and Yarrow is free! 

The young pastoral giant stalks off with 
Yarrow in his arms,— comforting him. 

But the bull-terrier’s blood is up, and 
his soul unsatisfied; he grips the first dog 
he meets, and, discovering she is not a 
dog, in Homeric phrase, he makes a brief 
sort of amende , and is off. The boys, with 
Bob and me at their head, are after him: 





































































RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 9 

down Niddry Street he goes, bent on mis¬ 
chief; up the Cowgate like an arrow,— 
Bob and I, and our small men, panting 
behind. 

There, under the single arch of the 
South Bridge, is a huge mastiff, sauntering 
down the middle of the causeway, as if 
with his hands in his pockets; he is old, 
gray, brindled, as big as a little Highland 
bull, and has the Shakespearian dewlaps 
shaking as he goes. 

The Chicken makes straight at him, and 
fastens on his throat. To our astonish¬ 
ment, the great creature does nothing but 
stand still, hold himself up, and roar,— 
yes, roar; a long, serious remonstrative 
roar. How is this? Bob and I are up to 
them. He is muzzled! The bailies had 
proclaimed a general muzzling, and his 
master, studying strength and economy 
mainly, had encompassed his huge jaws in 
a home-made apparatus, constructed out 


IO 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


of the leather of some ancient breechin . 
His mouth was open as far as it could; 
his lips curled in a rage,— a sort of ter¬ 
rible grin; his teeth gleaming, ready, from 
out the darkness; the strap across his 
mouth tense as a bowstring; his whole 
frame stiff with indignation and surprise; 
his roar asking us all round, “ Did you 
ever see the like of this?” He looked a 
statue of anger and astonishment, done in 
Aberdeen granite. 

We soon had a crowd ; the Chicken held 
on. “ A knife ! ” cried Bob ; and a cobbler 
gave him his knife: you know the kind of 
knife, worn away obliquely to a point, and 
always keen. I put its edge to the tense 
leather; it ran before it; and then! — one 
sudden jerk of that enormous head, a sort 
of dirty mist about his mouth, no noise, 
and the bright and fierce little fellow is 
dropped, limp and dead. A solemn pause: 
this was more than any of us had bar- 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. II 

gained for. I turned the little fellow over, 
and saw he was quite dead; the mastiff 
had taken him by the small of the back 
like a rat, and broken it. 

He looked down at his victim appeased, 



ashamed, and amazed; snuffed him all 
over, stared at him, and, taking a sudden 
thought, turned round and trotted off. 
Bob took the dead dog up, and said: 







12 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


“ John, we ’ll bury him after tea.” — “ Yes,” 
said I, and was off after the mastiff. He 
made up the Cowgate at a rapid swing; 
he had forgotten some engagement. He 
turned up the Candlemaker Row, and 
stopped at the Harrow Inn. 

There was a carrier’s cart ready to start, 
and a keen, thin, impatient, black-a-vised 
little man, his hand at his gray horse’s 
head, looking about angrily for something. 

“ Rab, ye thief! ” said he, aiming a kick 
at my great friend, who drew cringing up, 
and avoiding the heavy shoe with more 
agility than dignity, and watching his mas¬ 
ter’s eye, slunk dismayed under the cart, 
his ears down, and as much as he had of 
tail down too. 

What a man this must be, thought I, 
to whom my tremendous hero turns tail! 
The carrier saw the muzzle hanging, cut 
and useless, from his neck, and I eagerly 
told him the story, which Bob and I always 



































RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 15 

thought, and still think, Homer, or King 
David, or Sir Walter alone were worthy 
to rehearse. The severe little man was 
mitigated, and condescended to say, “ Rab, 
my man, puir Rabbie,”—whereupon the 
stump of a tail rose up, the ears were 
cocked, the eyes filled, and were com¬ 
forted; the two friends were reconciled. 
“ Hupp!” and a stroke of the whip were 
given to Jess; and off went the three. 

Bob and I buried the Game Chicken 
that night (we had not much of a tea) in 
the back-green of his house in Melville 
Street, No. 17, with considerable gravity 
and silence; and being at the time in the 
Iliad, and, like all boys, Trojans, we called 
him Hector, of course. 


i6 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


Six years have passed,—a long time 
for a boy and a dog: Bob Ainslie is off 
to the wars; I am a medical student, and 
clerk at Minto House Hospital. 

Rab I saw almost every week on the 
Wednesday; and we had much pleasant 
intimacy. I found the way to his heart by 
frequent scratching of his huge head, and 
an occasional bone. When I did not 
notice him he would plant himself straight 
before me, and stand wagging that bud of 
a tail, and looking up, with his head a little 
to the one side. His master I occasionally 
saw; he used to call me “ Maister John,” 
but was laconic as any Spartan. 

One fine October afternoon, I was leav¬ 
ing the hospital, when I saw the large gate 
open, and in walked Rab, with that great 
and easy saunter of his. He looked as 
if taking general possession of the place; 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 1 7 

like the Duke of Wellington entering a 
subdued city, satiated with victory and 
peace. After him came Jess, now white 
from age, with her cart; and in it a 
woman carefully wrapped up, — the car¬ 
rier leading the horse anxiously and look¬ 
ing back. When he saw me, James (for 
his name was James Noble) made a curt 
and grotesque “ boo,” and said, “ Maister 
John, this is the mistress; she ’s got trouble 
in her breest, — some kind o’ an income, 
we ’re thinkin’.” 

By this time I saw the woman’s face; 
she was sitting on a sack filled with straw, 
her husband’s plaid round her, and his big 
coat, with its large white metal buttons, 
over her feet. 

I never saw a more unforgetable face, 
pale, serious, lonely , # delicate, sweet, with¬ 
out being at all what we call fine. She 

* It is not easy giving this look by one word ; it was ex¬ 
pressive of her being so much of her life alone. 


1 8 RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 

looked sixty, and had on a mutch, white as 
snow, with its black ribbon; her silvery, 
smooth hair setting off her dark-gray eyes, 



— eyes such as one sees only twice or thrice 
in a life-time, full of suffering, full also of 
the overcoming of it; her eyebrows* black 


* Black brows, they say, 

Become some women best; so that there be not 
Too much hair there, but in a semicircle , 

Or a half-moon made with a pen. — A W INTERNS Tale. 




RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


19 


and delicate, and her mouth firm, patient 
and contented, which few mouths ever 
are. 

As I have said, I never saw a more 
beautiful countenance, or one more sub¬ 
dued to settled quiet. “ Ailie,” said James, 
“this is Maister John, the young doctor; 
Rab’s freend, ye ken. We often speak 
aboot you, doctor.” She smiled, and made 
a movement, but said nothing; and pre¬ 
pared to come down, putting her plaid 
aside and rising. Had Solomon, in all his 
glory, been handing down the Queen of 
Sheba at his palace gate, he could not 
have done it more daintily, more tenderly, 
more like a gentleman, than did James, 
the Howgate carrier, when he lifted down 
Ailie his wife. The contrast of his small, 
swarthy, weather-beaten, keen, worldly face 
to hers—pale, subdued, and beautiful — 
was something wonderful. Rab looked 
on, concerned and puzzled, but ready for 


20 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


anything that might turn up,— were it to 
strangle the nurse, the porter, or even me. 
Ailie and he seemed great friends. 

“ As I was sayin’, she’s got a kind o’ 
trouble in her breest, doctor; wull ye tak’ 
a look at it?” We walked into the con¬ 
sulting-room, all four; Rab grim and 
comic, willing to be happy and confiden¬ 
tial if cause could be shown, willing also 
to be the reverse, on the same terms. 
Ailie sat down, undid her open gown and 
her lawn handkerchief round her neck, 
and without a word showed me her right 
breast. I looked at and examined it care¬ 
fully,— she and James watching me, and 
Rab eyeing all three. What could I say? 
there it was, that had once been so soft, so 
shapely, so white, so gracious and bounti¬ 
ful, so “full of all blessed conditions,” — 
hard as a stone, a centre of horrid pain, 
making that pale face, with its gray, lucid, 
reasonable eyes, and its sweet, resolved 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


21 


mouth, express the full measure of suffer¬ 
ing overcome. Why was that gentle, 
modest, sweet woman, clean and lovable, 
condemned by God to bear such a bur¬ 
den? 

I got her away to bed. “ May Rab and 
me bide?” said James. “You may; and 
Rab, if he will behave himself.” “ I’se war¬ 
rant he’s do that, doctor;” and in slunk 
the faithful beast. I wish you could have 
seen him. There are no such dogs now. 
He belonged to a lost tribe. As I have 
said, he was brindled and gray like Rub- 
islaw granite ; his hair short, hard, and 
close, like a lion’s; his body thick-set, like 
a little bull,— a sort of compressed Her¬ 
cules of a dog. He must have been 
ninety pounds weight at the least; he had 
a large, blunt head; his muzzle black as 
night, his mouth blacker than any night, a 
tooth or two — being all he had — gleam¬ 
ing out of his jaws of darkness. His head 


22 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


was scarred with the records of old wounds, 
a sort of series of fields of battle all over 
it; one eye out, one ear cropped as close 
as was Archbishop Leighton’s father’s; the 
remaining eye had the power of two; and 
above it, and in constant communication 
with it, was a tattered rag of an ear, which 
was forever unfurling itself, like an old 
flag; and then that bud of a tail, about 
one inch long, if it could in any sense be 
said to be long, being as broad as long — 
the mobility, the instantaneousness of that 
bud were very funny and surprising, and 
its expressive twinklings and winkings, the 
intercommunications between the eye, the 
ear, and it, were of the oddest and 
swiftest. 

Rab had the dignity and simplicity of 
great size; and, having fought his way 
all along the road to absolute supremacy, 
he was as mighty in his own line as 
Julius Caesar or the Duke of Welling- 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 2$ 

ton, and had the gravity* of all great 
fighters. 

You must have often observed the like¬ 
ness of certain men to certain animals, 
and of certain dogs to men. Now, I 
never looked at Rab without thinking of 
the great Baptist preacher, Andrew Ful¬ 
ler.! The same large, heavy, menacing, 
combative, sombre, honest countenance, 
the same deep, inevitable eye, the same 


* A Highland gamekeeper, when asked why a certain ter¬ 
rier of singular pluck was so much more solemn than the other 
dogs, said, “ O, sir, life’s full o’ sairiousness to him,— he just 
never can get enuff o’ fechtin’.” 

t Fuller was, in early life, when a farmer lad at Soham, 
famous as a boxer; not quarrelsome, but not without “ the stern 
delight ” a man of strength and courage feels in their exercise. 
Dr. Charles Stewart of Dunearn, whose rare gifts and graces 
as a physician, a divine, a scholar, and a gentleman, live only 
in the memory of those few who knew and survive him, liked 
to tell how Mr. Fuller used to say, that when he was in the 
pulpit and saw a buirdly man come along the passage he would 
instinctively draw himself up, measure his imaginary antago¬ 
nist, and forecast how he would deal with him, his hands 
meanwhile condensing into fists, and tending to “square.” 
He must have been a hard hitter if he boxed as he preached, 
— what “ The Fancy ” would call “ an ugly customer.” 


24 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


look,— as of thunder asleep, but ready, 
— neither a dog nor a man to be trifled 
with. 

Next day, my master, the surgeon, ex¬ 
amined Ailie. There was no doubt it 
must kill her, and soon. It could be re¬ 
moved— it might never return—it would 
give her speedy relief — she should have 
it done. She courtesied, looked at James, 
and said, “ When ? ” — “ To-morrow,” said 
the kind surgeon, a man of few words. 
She and James and Rab and I retired. I 
noticed that he and she spoke little, but 
seemed to anticipate everything in each 
other. The following day at noon, the 
students came in, hurrying up the great 
stair. At the first landing-place, on a 
small, well-known blackboard, was a bit of 
paper fastened by wafers, and many re¬ 
mains of old wafers beside it. On the 
paper were the words: “An operation 
to-day. J. B., Clerk.” 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


25 


Up ran the youths, eager to secure good 
places; in they crowded, full of interest 
and talk. “ What’s the case ? ” “ Which 

side is it ? ” 

Don’t think them heartless; they are 
neither better nor worse than you or I ; 



and into their proper work,— and in them 
pity, as an emotion , ending in itself or at 
best in tears and a long-drawn breath, 
lessens, while pity as a motive is quick¬ 
ened, and gains power and purpose. It is 
well for poor human nature that it is so. 





26 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


The operating theatre is crowded; much 
talk and fun, and all the cordiality and stir 
of youth. The surgeon with his staff of 
assistants is there. In comes Ailie: one 
look at her quiets and abates the eager 
students. That beautiful old woman is 
too much for them; they sit down, and 
are*dumb, and gaze at her. These rough 
boys feel the power of her presence. She 
walks in quickly, but without haste; 
dressed in her mutch, her neckerchief, her 
white dimity short-gown, her black bomba¬ 
zine petticoat, showing her white worsted 
stockings and her carpet-shoes. Behind 
her was James and Rab. James sat down 
in the distance, and took that huge and 
noble head between his knees. Rab 
looked perplexed and dangerous; forever 
cocking his ear and dropping it as 
fast. 

Ailie stepped up on a seat, and laid her¬ 
self on the table as her friend the surgeon 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 27 

told her; arranged herself, gave a rapid 
look at James, shut her eyes, rested her¬ 
self on me, and took my hand. The oper¬ 
ation was at once begun; it was necessarily 
slow; and chloroform—one of God’s best 
gifts to his suffering children — was then 
unknown. The surgeon did his work. 
The pale face showed its pain, but was 
still and silent. Rab’s soul was working 
within him; he saw that something strange 
was going on,—blood flowing from his 
mistress, and she suffering; his ragged 
ear was up, and importunate; he growled, 
and gave now and then a sharp, impatient 
yelp; he would have liked to have done 
something to that man. But James had 
him firm, and gave him a glower from time 
to time, and an intimation of a possible 
kick; all the better for James, it kept his 
eye and his mind off Ailie. 

It is over: she is dressed, steps gently 
and decently down from the table, looks 


28 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


for James; then turning to the surgeon 
and the students she courtesies, and in a 
low, clear voice begs 
their pardon if she has 
behaved ill. The stu¬ 
dents — all of us — 
wept like children ; the 
surgeon happed her 
u p carefully, 
and, resting on 
James and me, 
Ailie went to 
her room, Rab 
following. We 
put her to bed. 
James took off 
his heavy 
shoes, cramm¬ 
ed with tack- 
ets, heel-capt 
and toe-capt, 
and put them carefully under the table, 




RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 29 

saying, “ Maister John, I’m for nane o’ yer 
strynge nurse bodies for Ailie. I ’ll be 
her nurse, and I ’ll gang aboot on my 
stockin’ soles as canny as pussy.” And 
so he did; and handy and clever, and 
swift and tender as any woman, was that 
horny-handed, snell, peremptory little man. 
Everything she got he gave her; he 
seldom slept; and often I saw his small, 
shrewd eyes out of the darkness, fixed on 
her. As before, they spoke little. 

Rab behaved well, never moving, show¬ 
ing us how meek and gentle he could be, 
and occasionally, in his sleep, letting us 
know that he was demolishing some ad¬ 
versary. He took a walk with me every 
day, generally to the Candlemaker Row; 
but he was sombre and mild; declined 
doing battle, though some fit cases offered, 
and, indeed, submitted to sundry indigni¬ 
ties ; and was always very ready to turn, 
and came faster back, and trotted up the 


30 RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 

stair with much lightness, and went 
straight to that door. 

Jess, the mare, had been sent, with her 
weather-worn cart, to Howgate, and had, 
doubtless, her own dim and placid medi¬ 
tations and confusions, on the absence of 
her master and Rab, and her unnatural 
freedom from the road and her cart. 

For some days Ailie did well. The 
wound healed “by the first intention ”; for, 
as James said, “ Oor Ailie’s skin’s ower 
clean to beil.” The students came in 
quiet and anxious, and surrounded her 
bed. She said she liked to see their 
young, honest faces. The surgeon dressed 
her, and spoke to her in his own short, 
kind way, pitying her through his eyes, 
Rab and James outside the circle,— Rab 
being now reconciled, and even cordial, 
and having made up his mind that as yet 
nobody required worrying, but, as you may 
suppose, semper paratus. 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 31 

So far well: but, four days after the 
operation, my patient had a sudden and 
long shivering, a “ groosin’,” as she called 
it. I saw her soon after; her eyes were 
too bright, her cheek colored; she was 
restless, and ashamed of being so; the 
balance was lost; mischief had begun. 
On looking at the wound a blush of red 
told the secret: her pulse was rapid, her 
breathing anxious and quick ; she was n’t 
herself, as she said, and was vexed at her 
restlessness. We tried what we could. 
James did everything, was everywhere; 
never in the way, never out of it; Rab 
subsided under the table into a dark place, 
and was motionless, all but his eye, which 
followed every one. Ailie got worse ; be¬ 
gan to wander in her mind, gently; was 
more demonstrative in her ways to James, 
rapid in her questions, and sharp at times. 
He was vexed, and said, “ She was never 
that way afore; no, never.” For a time 


32 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


she knew her head was wrong, and was 
always asking our pardon,— the dear, 
gentle old woman; then delirium set 
in strong, without pause. Her brain 
gave way, and then came that terrible 
spectacle,— 


“ The intellectual power, through words and things, 
Went sounding on its dim and perilous way ”; 

she sang bits of old songs and Psalms, 
stopping suddenly, mingling the Psalms of 
David and the diviner words of his Son 
and Lord with homely odds and ends and 
scraps of ballads. 

Nothing more touching, or in a sense 
more strangely beautiful, did I ever wit¬ 
ness. Her tremulous, rapid, affectionate, 
eager Scotch voice, the swift, aimless, be¬ 
wildered mind, the baffled utterance, the 
bright and perilous eye ; some wild words, 
some household cares, something for 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 33 

James, the names of the dead, Rab called 
rapidly and in a “ fremyt ” voice, and he 
starting up surprised, and slinking off as 
if he were to blame somehow, or had been 
dreaming he heard; many eager questions 
and beseechings which James and I could 
make nothing of, and on which she seemed 
to set her all, and then sink back ununder¬ 
stood. It was very sad, but better than 
many things that are not called sad. 
James hovered about, put out and miser¬ 
able, but active and exact as ever; read to 
her, when there was a lull, short bits from 
the Psalms, prose and metre, chanting 
the latter in his own rude and serious 
way, showing great knowledge of the fit 
words, bearing up like a man, and 
doating over her as his “ ain Ailie.” 
“ Ailie, ma woman ! ” “ Ma ain bonnie 

wee dawtie! ” 

The end was drawing on: the golden 
bowl was breaking; the silver cord was 


34 rab and his friends. 

fast being loosed; that animula blandula , 
vagula , hospes y comesque , was about to flee. 
The body and the soul, companions for 
sixty years, were being sundered, and tak¬ 
ing leave. She was walking alone through 
the valley of that shadow into which one 
day we must all enter; and yet she was 
not alone, for we know whose rod and 
staff were comforting her. 

One night she had fallen quiet, and, 
as we hoped, asleep; her eyes were shut. 
We put down the gas, and sat watching 
her. Suddenly she sat up in bed, and 
taking a bed gown which was lying on it, 
rolled up, she held it eagerly to her breast, 
— to the right side. We could see her 
eyes bright with a surprising tenderness 
and joy, bending over this bundle of 
clothes. She held it as a woman holds her 
sucking child ; opening out her nightgown 
impatiently, and holding it close, and 
brooding over it, and murmuring foolish 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 35 

little words, as over one whom his mother 
comforteth, and who sucks and is satisfied. 
It was pitiful and strange to see her wasted 
dying look, keen and yet vague,— her 
immense love. 

“ Preserve me ! ” groaned James, giving 
way. And then she rocked back and for¬ 
ward, as if to make it sleep, hushing it, 
and wasting on it her infinite fondness. 
“ Wae’s me, doctor; I declare she’s thinkin’ 
it’s that bairn.” — “ What bairn ? ” — “ The 
only bairn we ever had; our wee Mysie, 
and she’s in the Kingdom, forty years and 
mair.” It was plainly true; the pain in 
the breast, telling its urgent story to a 
bewildered, ruined brain, was misread and 
mistaken; it suggested to her the uneasi¬ 
ness of a breast full of milk, and then the 
child; and so again once more they were 
together, and she had her ain wee Mysie 
in her bosom. 

This was the close. She sank rapidly; 


36 RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 





















RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 37 

turned to her husband again, as if she 
would never leave off looking, shut her 
eyes, and composed herself. She lay for 
some time breathing quick, and passed 
away so gently that, when we thought she 
was gone, James, in his old-fashioned way, 
held the mirror to her face. After a long 
pause, one small spot of dimness was 
breathed out; it vanished away, and never 
returned, leaving the blank, clear darkness 
of the mirror without a stain. “ What is 
our life ? it is even a vapor, which appeareth 
for a little time, and then vanisheth away.” 

Rab all this time had been full awake 
and motionless; he came forward beside 
us: Ailie’s hand, which James had held, 
was hanging down; it was soaked with 
his tears; Rab licked it all over carefully, 
looked at her, and returned to his place 
under the table. 

James and I sat, I don’t know how 
long, but for some time,— saying nothing. 


38 RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 

He started up abruptly, and with some 
noise went to the table, and, putting 
his right fore and middle fingers each 
into a shoe, pulled them out, and put 
them on, breaking one of the leather 
latchets, and muttering in anger, “ I never 
did the like o’ that afore! ” 

I believe he never did; nor after either 
“ Rab! ” he said roughly, and pointing 
with his thumb to the bottom of the bed. 
Rab leapt up, and settled himself, his 
head and eye to the dead face. “ Maister 
John, ye’ll wait for me,” said the carrier, 
and disappeared in the darkness, thunder¬ 
ing downstairs in his heavy shoes. I ran 
to a front window; there he was, already 
round the house, and out at the gate, flee¬ 
ing like a shadow. 

I was afraid about him, and yet not 
afraid; so I sat down beside Rab, and, 
being wearied, fell asleep. I awoke from 
a sudden noise outside. It was Novem- 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


39 


ber, and there had been a heavy fall of 
snow. Rab was in statu quo; he heard 
the noise too, and plainly knew it, but 
never moved. I looked out, and there, at 
the gate, in the dim morning — for the 
sun was not up — was Jess and the cart, a 
cloud of steam rising from the old mare. 
I did not see James; he was already at the 
door, and came up the stairs and met me. 
It was less than three hours since he left 
and he must have posted out — who knows 
how?:—to Howgate, full nine miles off, 
yoked Jess, and driven her astonished into 
town. He had an armful of blankets, and 
was streaming with perspiration. He 
nodded to me, spread out on the floor two 
pairs of clean old blankets having at their 
corners, “ A. G., 1794,” in large letters in 
red worsted. These were the initials of 
Alison Graeme, and James may have looked 
in at her from without, — himself unseen 
but not unthought of, — when he was 


40 RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 

“wat, wat, and weary,” and, after having 
walked many a mile over the hills, may 
have seen her sitting, while “a’ the lave 
were sleepin’,” and by the firelight work¬ 
ing her name on the blankets for her ain 
James’s bed. 

He motioned Rab down, and, taking his 
wife in his arms, laid her in the blankets, 
and happed her carefully and firmly up, 
leaving the face uncovered; and then, lift¬ 
ing her, he nodded again sharply to me, 
and with a resolved but utterly miserable 
face strode along the passage and down 
stairs, followed by Rab. I followed with a 
light, but he did n’t need it. I went out, 
holding stupidly the candle in my hand, 
in the calm, frosty air; we were soon at 
the gate. I could have helped him, but I 
saw he was not to be meddled with, and 
he was strong and did not need it. He 
laid her down as tenderly, as safely, as he 
had lifted her out ten days before, — as ten- 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 41 

derly as when he had her first in his arms 
when she was only “ A. G.,” — sorted her, 
leaving that beautiful sealed face open to 
the heavens; and then, taking Jess by the 
head, he moved away. He did not notice 
me, neither did Rab, who presided behind 
the cart. I stood till they passed through 
the long shadow of the College, and 
turned up Nicolson Street. I heard the 
solitary cart sound through the streets, 
and die away and come again; and I re¬ 
turned, thinking of that company going 
up Libberton Brae, then along Roslin 
Muir, the morning light touching the 
Pentlands and making them like on-look¬ 
ing ghosts; then down the hill through 
Auchindinny woods, past “ haunted Wood- 
houselee ”; and, as daybreak came sweep¬ 
ing up the bleak Lammermuirs, and fell 
on his own door, the company would stop, 
and James would take the key, and lift 
Ailie up again, laying heron her own bed, 


42 RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 

and, having put Jess up, would return with 
Rab and shut the door. 

James buried his wife, with his neigh¬ 
bors mourning, Rab inspecting the solem¬ 
nity from a distance. It was snow, and 
that black, ragged hole would look strange 
in the midst of the swelling, spotless 
cushion of white. James looked after 
everything; then rather suddenly fell ill, 
and took to bed; was insensible when the 
doctor came, and soon died. A sort of 
low fever was prevailing in the village, and 
his want of sleep, his exhaustion, and his 
misery made him apt to take it. The 
grave was not difficult to reopen. A fresh 
fall of snow had again made all things 
white and smooth; Rab once more looked 
on, and slunk home to the stable. 


And what of Rab? I asked for him 
next week at the new carrier who got the 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 43 

good-will of James’s business, and was now 
master of Jess and her cart. “How’s 
Rab ? ” He put me off, and said rather 
rudely, “ What’s your business wi’ the 
dowg ? ” I was not to be so put off. 
“ Where’s Rab ? ” He, getting confused 
and red, and intermeddling with his 
hair, said, “’Deed, sir, Rab’s deid.” — 
“Dead! what did he die of?” — “Weel, 
sir,” said he, getting redder, “ he didna 
exactly dee; he was killed. I had to 
brain him wi’ a rack-pin; there was nae 
doin’ wi’ him. He lay in the treviss 
wi’ the mear, and wadna come oot. I 
tempit him wi’ kail and meat, but he 
wad tak naething, and keepit me frae 
feedin’ the beast, and he was aye gur 
gurrin’, and grup gruppin’ me by the 
legs. I was laith to make awa wi’ the 
auld dowg, his like wasna atween this 
and Thornhill,— but,’deed, sir, I could do 
naething-else.” I believed him. Fit end 


44 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 


for Rab, quick and complete. His teeth 
and his friends gone, why should he keep 
the peace, and be civil ? 







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